Detrimental to the Mission
by Ygrain33
Summary: Commander Shepard has a nightmare, and what followed. Rated for language and implications.


**Detrimental to the Mission**

_A blast of an explosion sends him reeling, bumping against the Normandy's ravaged deck, and then out, into the open space._

_A few precious moments before he recuperates from the worst impact and realizes that the frantically flashing controls signalize a puncture that the self-reparatory mechanism of the hardsuit cannot seal. The training kicks in immediately and he starts breathing rapidly, to increase the supply of oxygen in blood, while retrieving omnigel from the repair kit. Vacuum des not kill instantly, and if he manages to seal the hole in time, he can survive long enough to be picked by a rescue team._

_Or at least he would, if the hole was not located on his back, and rather a rupture than a mere puncture, or else the amount of omnigel he has applied would already have sealed it. Yet, the controls still display an ugly red and he already feels the first signs of exposure on his skin, the saliva in his mouth boiling despite the venting system pumping oxygen into his helmet like mad. The blood throbbing in his ears is deafening, his lungs burn as the precious air keeps evaporating and the pressure is falling down; pain spreads through his chest as the muscles contract spasmodically in a vain attempt to supply the lungs with air. A shot of pain in his eyes as the tiny veins start rupturing and his blackening vision turns red, and he feels the eyeballs bulging from the inner pressure, until they burst and flow down his cheeks, leaving a coppery taste – _

Choking, Shepard abruptly sits up in his bed; only when the serene blue light of the fish tanks sets in, he is able to start breathing normally.

And only then he realizes that his intercom must have gone mad, patching through Lawson, Chambers and Chakwas at the same time.

"What the hell?" he mutters, still rather shakily, unsure if this is a continuation of his dream or not. Raking his fingers through his hair (and touching his eyes, just for reassuring), he quickly composes himself. "Enough," he orders the three women, all trying to talk at the same time, "what's this all about? – Lawson?" he quickly addresses one, realizing that failing to do so would only lead to a new bout of triple gibberish.

"The reading of your life functions showed a life-threatening anomaly," she explains. "That automatically alerted me, as the leading operative of the Lazarus project, doctor Chakwas and Yeoman Chambers as a psychological consultant, should your problems be merely psychosomatic –"

Still hazed from the sleep, it takes Shepard some time to catch up. "Readings? _What readings_? Why are _you_ receiving any readings of my state?"

"As a leading operative of the Lazarus project –"

"Lawson." Shepard is quite proud not to start yelling. "The project is over. You're currently leading nothing."

The murderous look he receives improves his mood considerably but the _woman_ is persistent. "I must remind you that your well-being is crucial to the success of the mission. Your current body is a unique combination of synthetic and organic, allowed by rather non-standard techniques, and any malfunction –"

_Thanks, that's exactly what I needed to be reminded of_. "Operative Lawson. No malfunction occurred. I had a bad dream, is all."

"But you were choking –"

"Because I had a _nightmare_ of choking, as easy as that!"

As could be expected, the psychological aspect brings Chambers immediately to intervene with a ton of advice, together with a lecture on abnormal mental states. Her puppy eyes are brimming with an earnest desire to help. At the beginning, Shepard wasn't buying all the emo, until he realized that this is not an act, that Yeoman Kelly Chambers is truly the type who helps stray kittens – and that it's probably the reason why Cerberus sent her on the mission.

_A Queen of Hearts to balance the Ice Queen. A good move, TIM, but if you thought I'd fall for it, you'll have to think twice._

But one does not kick eager puppies, and so Shepard puts on a reassuring smile and tunes his voice into the very essence of Shepardness. "I appreciate your concern, Kelly, but I believe that a nightmare of suffocating in one who _has_ actually suffocated is hardly an abnormal state but a natural reaction. Besides," he adds quickly, seeing her eyes widen in sympathy, "it is not a sign of an underlying trauma, either, since in vacuum, hypoxia-induced loss of consciousness occurs within a matter of seconds, so I don't really remember anything of it."

Tens of seconds, in fact_, _due to oxygen hyperventilation that is supposed to provide the time to repair the hardsuit, if possible, and he does remember a thing or two, but he's definitely not going to tell her _that_.

"I see. A false alert." Doctor Chakwas joins the conversation for the first time. "Good night, Commander. Just let me know if you need some sedatives."

_I was sedated for two years, thankyouverymuch_. "Good night, doctor."

The megapuppy is less easily deterred. "Are you _sure_ you will be alright?"

_As alright as a revived half-synthetic corpse working for a terrorist organisation which he previously hunted can be_. "Of course. I will seek your professional help if such nightmares should occur repeatedly, I swear."

And since she can hardly undermine her previous statement that she trusts him implicitly, she reluctantly wishes him good night, as well, and her part of the intercom goes blank, which leaves Shepard staring from eye to eye with Miranda Lawson. Despite the hour, her make-up and hairstyle are flawless, which makes it even easier for Shepard to savour every moment. "Operative Lawson. This is not to happen again. _Ever_. Stop spying on me at once."

"I must protest. The data –"

"Lawson. Either I am a test subject, or a Commander. I can't be both. Drop it."

A grimace that on a less perfect woman would come out as a pout. "Of course."

"_Now_."

The pout becomes more profound but Lawson leans closer to the console and does something Shepard cannot see. "Done."

Shepard nods. "Fine. Now, a question, if you don't mind. What are your commands from the Illusive Man concerning complying with _my_ commands?"

Not just pouting but outright sulking. "The success of the mission is all that matters. The Collectors must be stopped. Unless you go rogue, I am to obey unconditionally."

_How does one go rogue from murderers and terrorists?_ "Good. EDI?"

The blue hologram materialises above the console. "Has the routine that monitors my life functions and sends the data to Miss Lawson been disabled?"

The AI's voice speaks with a tinge of regret: "My blocks –"

"Can you disable it on your own?"

"My blocks –"

"Never mind. Set the course for the closest habitable world. Miss Lawson will be leaving."

"_What_?" The yell is not quite so perfect as the voice that Miranda Lawson normally produces. "You _can't_ do that!"

"I can and I will. I believe that my privacy is more essential to the success of the mission than your presence on the Normandy."

Shepard has little doubt that there are only a few things that might leave Miranda Lawson breathless, and this is definitely one of them. He lets her stew for a little longer, and then offers with a warm smile: "Unless you'd prefer to abort the routine?"

Two angry red spots that appear on the alabaster cheeks make her almost life-like. "As you wish. However, I cannot guarantee that there are no other such routines that I am unaware of, and I refuse to be held responsible for that!"

"Of course not. Good night, Miranda."

She turns off the intercom without answering, which is technically insubordination, but Shepard is willing to overlook that. "EDI," he asks, "do any of your blocks prevent you from informing me whether Operative Lawson has disobeyed my command?"

The reply comes with a few seconds of delay. "I haven't found any. However, I may not be able to specify the exact nature of the insubordination."

"Good. Are the readings going anywhere else?"

"My blocks –"

"Of course, EDI. Never mind."

The blue holo changes shades several times. "I would only like to point out that monitoring your life functions is in no way harmful and is a part of standard monitoring on every ship."

_You too_? "Standard monitoring is alright, EDI, especially as long as no fuss is made over it."

_And as long as Lawson has no part in it. _He is not naïve and presumes that every single bit of eavesdropped information goes directly to TIM's table, anyway, but he can live with that. His contact with the man is scarce and limited, and above all, the Illusive Man is high on his private list of "To Be Killed ASAP", which eventually will make the problem disappear. On the other hand, Lawson, irritating as she is, has not earned a place on that list _yet_ and encountering her in the confined space of the spaceship happens on a daily basis. The thought that she knows him more intimately than he will ever be able to know himself, down to the cellular level, is plain creepy. No way he is going to feed her any more information.

And EDI... under no circumstances, you are to patch Lawson through to my cabin without my permission. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Shepard."

_Anything to keep Lawson off my ass._

Though, truth be told, he has to claim an intimate knowledge of Lawson's parts, namely her ass, as well, since the tight costume she wears leaves nothing to imagination, but he certainly feels no urge to maintain the bond. In fact, he feels no urges towards Lawson's ass at all, since all that genetically perfected beauty with an equally perfect clothing gives her the sex-appeal of a plastic chair. _Designer_ chair, that's for sure, but a chair still.

He decides to take a shower to get rid of the stickiness of the dried sweat. He stands with his eyes closed, feeling the water trickle over his eyelids. A spacer born and bread, he _knows_ that human eyes neither burst nor pop out in the vacuum, or at least not regularly and not while the person is still conscious, but the image from the urban legends that inevitably circulate in every population has been giving him creeps ever since that particular age when boys love to dare each other in telling overstretched horror stories.

The fact that his eyes are now artificial implants is not exactly helpful in this. _At all_. First class implants, and exact copies up to the smallest dots in the irises, but it totally boggles him to think what happened to his real eyes – yet, he'd rather burn in hell than ask Lawson about details.

_Speaking of which…._

"EDI?" he asks, not really expecting the AI to respond in the bathroom, but the Cerberus technicians apparently did not miss a single room where they could plant a bug.

"Yes, Shepard?" the unmistakable holo, though in a rather poor quality, materializes just above the bottle with depilating lotion.

"Weren't you supposed to do this just above terminals?"

"For the convenience of the crew and visitors, yes, but I can use practically any I/O device."

_Great_. "Are such bugs in every single room?"

"My blocks –"

"Is there at least one in Operative Lawson's cabin?"

"My blocks –"

"Can you see now what Operative Lawson is doing?"

Silence. "Yes."

_Funny how rephrasing the question can change the outcome_. With mild curiosity, he asks: "And can you tell me what she is doing now?"

An even longer silence, until EDI finally replies: "I haven't found any blocks that would prevent me from that. Operative Lawson is currently pacing her room and randomly kicking furniture."

"Truly? And why?"

"The way she keeps yelling your name in combination with various words which my files classify as vulgar and offensive makes me presume that she is dissatisfied with your decision."

_I can imagine._ "He has hard time not to double with laughter. "Can you show me?" he asks just for fun, but to his surprise, EDI actually ponders the request. "That would be an unsubstantiated breach of privacy, but I could make… a simulation."

The idea is irresistible. "Go ahead."

A slightly fuzzy hologram materializes instead of EDI's sphere. Shepard watches in disbelief for a while, until he finally finds his voice: "EDI… is she really wearing that pink fluffy stuff?"

"Operative Lawson owns several such models."

"All those frills and, uh, puff?"

"Yes." If an AI's voice could ever imply 'you're weird to ask', EDI's does.

_Ugh_. "Er, I believe that I have seen enough."

The holo disappears immediately, only to be replaced by EDI's representation again. The thing does not have eyes, yet Shepard feels somewhat uncomfortable as he is slowly turning around to get dry in the stream of warm air. It would be totally idiotic, though, to dismiss a computer program on the basis of ogling him.

_Besides, there is no escape from the thing, anyway._

_Better her than Lawson, still. _The woman might have seenhim wearing nothing but his skin during the Lazarus project days (and as he suspects, there was probably a time when even the skin was not there), but as long as it's Doctor Chakwas who runs the medlab, he'll be damned if he ever allows Lawson to get her paws or eyes on him again.

Heading out of the bathroom, he pauses in midstep as an idea strikes him. "EDI… have you made these… simulations… before?"

A profound pause. "… have to check my blocks, hang on –"

_Oh. Holy. Shit._ "EDI, have you made such simulations for Operative Lawson?"

" – still checking, the directories are quite extensive – "

"Were those holos featuring _me_?"

"– must check if there is not a subsystem failure occurring somewhere –"

_Calm down, calm down, breathe._ "EDI. I don't want to know what was in those simulations" _Hopefully, no frills or feathers. _"I don't want to know who requested them and why. I do insist, though, that you do not make any more and that you delete any such existing files and make sure they cannot be recovered. If Operative Law – if _anyone_ asks you for those simulations again, you will refuse the request and inform them that you have run simulations – _extensive_ simulations – which have shown that indulging in such activities might become detrimental to the mission. Under no circumstances you are allowed to mention my part in this. Is. That. Clear?"

"…yes, Commander."

Returning to his bed, Shepard stares into the ceiling for the better part of the next two hours, pondering which nightmare will be worse – the one with his bursting eyes, or his hologram in fluffy pink feathers dancing above Miranda Lawson's console.


End file.
